It has been two years. Two years since I watched my dad’s life going away. Writing has become my own way of coping, healing and making sense of all the feelings that no one ever taught me how to handle. I got no memo. But as I digest all that has been written in those two years I am finally getting close to really letting him go.


“People who have recently lost someone have a certain look, recognizable maybe only to those who have seen that look on their own faces. I have noticed it on my face and I notice it now on others. The look is one of extreme vulnerability, nakedness, openness. It is the look of someone who walks from the ophthalmologist’s office into the bright daylight with dilated eyes, or of someone who wears glasses and is suddenly made to take them off. These people who have lost someone look naked because they think themselves invisible. I myself felt invisible for a period of time, incorporeal. I seemed to have crossed one of those legendary rivers that divide the living from the dead, entered a place in which I could be seen only by those who were themselves recently bereaved.” ― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

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